By Fire and By Ice
by EternallyJaded
Summary: Winter has come to Scandinavia and with it a movement to conquer the lands to the East. Berwald expects danger. He expects adventure. He expects death. What he does not expect is the perfect, mysterious Finn who falls into his possession and captures his heart. But hostility from powerful enemies and Tino's loyalty to his homeland could destroy everything. Viking!Nordics


_Today is the first blank page of a 365 day book. Write a good one._

I admittedly know very little about the Viking world but I am researching as I go. There will definitely be some technical errors though so if you spot any (or have any advice) let me know!

For reference I the names I use are:

Sweden- Berwald

Finland- Tino

Denmark- Mikkel

Norway- Lukas

Iceland- Emil

The first two are obviously cannon and the others are the first names I came across for the characters and they've become ingrained in my own headcannon. I know they might not be that popular so apologies if it's confusing, but I think they work well in a Viking context.

Rated M for future language, violence and sexual content.

Happy Reading ~EternallyJaded

* * *

The last rays of watery sunlight were beginning to fade on the horizon as Berwald finished gathering the fishing equipment from his boat. The net he had twined for himself had been folded neatly and slung over his shoulder along with a woven sack half full of his day's catch. The fish had long since stopped struggling and he found he had nothing but the cool sting of the distant sunset to distract him from the raucous laughter drifting to him from further down the shore.

Cold's comin', he thought to himself as he tucked his prized vessel into the small alcove he had claimed as his own, hidden in deep isolation. He allowed himself a few moments to greedily drink in the last of the sun and the lightly salted smell of the ocean. Soon there would be no fish to catch and no crops to harvest so they would turn to an activity more suited for the harsh winters of Scandinavia: adventure.

The voices of the other men carried to him on the sharp wind, still loud and happy as they retreated towards their little village, brandishing their respective hauls with more bravado than Berwald thought necessary for a simple fishing trip. He grunted his disapproval to himself and set off after them, making sure his long strides were slow enough to keep him in their wake.

Through the gradually dwindling crowd of nets and cloaks and animal skins one of the men began to separate himself from the rest. Still easily laughing as he swung from one to another, he boasted and jibbed and slapped shoulders until he had worked his way to the very back of the herd. When he began to slow his pace all too conspicuously Berwald matched it, stubbornly refusing to make eye contact.

"Hey! Hurry up, or I'll leave ya out here in the dark!" Berwald growled to himself in irritation but this time did allow himself a glance at the man who had called to him.

The chieftain.

He was tall, almost as tall as Berwald himself, with wildly pointy hair resembling an animal's mane. He was smiling broadly in a way that showed all his teeth and although it was friendly there was no mistaking the constant feral gleam behind his bright blue eyes. He was handsome in a way, Berwald supposed, but his reckless, unpredictable demeanour made him much less attractive.

He was young for a chieftain, only a little older than Berwald, but as their previous leader's eldest son he had inherited the position when his father had died in battle. It was a decision widely supported by the village especially since he and his wife Freyja had already been blessed with two sons. Berwald was sure he made an excellent leader but was not entirely convinced his methods were altogether honourable.

"Don't care," Berwald grunted as he pushed past him, increasing his speed in an effort to get rid of him. Unfortunately the other man followed suit, easily bounding at his side, grin still plastered to his obnoxious face.

"Easy, or I'll let the animals have ya," he purred with a smirk, "And I don't mean the wolves."

Berwald tried to suppress his discomfort as he shifted the ropes on his shoulders but he couldn't stop the heat from creeping into his face. He could tell Mikkel knew, satisfied by his lack of retort, and it made him blush even further.

The other men had never liked Berwald much. Which was putting it mildly; their feelings were closer to flat out hatred. He had always been somewhat of a recluse and his poor eyesight had made him the target of much teasing as a child. But it wasn't until he was older that people began to realise how different he really was. Although he was a clear foot taller than most of the men and built like a bear he had never enjoyed violence, even in jest. He could defend himself, of course, and had had to many times but he had never been the one to initiate a fight.

What really agitated them though was his refusal to find a wife. Berwald had never found anyone he would like to call his wife and despite repeated warnings about tradition and responsibility, he was determined to stay alone. Mikkel had spent countless hours counselling him on the matter, begging him to reconsider. And although he understood Berwald's resistance, even he could not see why he wouldn't give in to their demands.

They called him odd, deviant... flðflogi; sometimes with a false laugh and sometimes with unveiled venom but always with the same look of suspicion and the same tone of disgust. But that was fine. Berwald could take their insults and their ostracism. It was easy to ignore the cold glares and the icier taunts, but it was much harder to deal with their sabotage. In fact, if it wasn't for Mikkel's intervention he was sure they would have disposed of him years ago.

Their relationship was an odd one. They were neither friends nor enemies (or perhaps both) but there was a strange camaraderie between them. Berwald was undyingly loyal to him and in return Mikkel offered his protection. It was a pattern which had continued since their childhood and Berwald suspected it was now nothing more than a lingering habit.

But as Mikkel walked beside him, uncharacteristically quiet, part of him suspected –or perhaps hoped- that it was more than that. He would die before he would admit it out loud but Mikkel understood him better than anyone. He knew Berwald's shame and he shared the weight of keeping heavy secrets. They had spent many of their younger days hunting together in the bright forest or fishing in the ever-changing ocean. Many evenings by the sparkling waterside and many passionate, bloodthirsty nights under a blanket of stars.

When Mikkel had married and began to pressure Berwald to do the same their relationship had begun to unravel. It had never been about love, only respect and desperation, but somehow he had felt safe that he was not alone in his loneliness.

The stigma that had begun to ghost after him had been the final straw and Mikkel had distanced himself. Not that it bothered him much. But even now it was reassuring to know he was there, at the periphery of Berwald's isolation, keeping one protective azure eye on him at every turn.

A swift glance to his left told him that Mikkel was considering speaking; his mouth was slightly open and a small crease had formed between his eyebrows. The others had long since abandoned them to the cold dusk air and thick mist which had settled around them impaired Berwald's already poor visibility. He willed Mikkel to say something beyond their staple of mild threats and grunting, but in the end they both stayed silent.

"Faðir!" A boy cried, hurdling out of the grey and latching onto Mikkel's leg.

"Hei, barnit!" He laughed and scooped him up under his arm just as another flung itself from the mist and attached itself to his free hand.

Berwald followed quietly behind them as they entered through low walls of wood, reinforced with heavy boulders. The children chattered to their father and he exaggerated wildly about his day's adventure as they passed through the cluster of longhouses and fire pits which made up their little village.

A girl with her hair in plaits waited at the front of a large hut near the centre of the clearing and when they approached she ran indoors to tell her mother of their return. He watched as Mikkel shook his children off him and ducked into the house after them, loudly complimenting the warm fire. And just like that Berwald was forgotten again.

Still, he noted as he continued towards the far side of the village, at least he wasn't the only one.

Leaning cross-armed against the doorway of the hut next to Mikkel's, Lukas gazed unfathomably into the distance. His fine features could have been displaying anything from his perpetual distain to heartfelt longing; the distance between them meant it was only guesswork. As he passed he noticed the tiny silver haired child clinging desperately to the back of Lukas' lean legs. The older brother gave Berwald a silent, unsmiling nod as he meandered past and he returned it without slowing his pace.

Separated from the rest of the structures shrinking into the outermost wall was the modest shelter he called home. Actually, he was quite proud of the hut; small enough not to be too conspicuous but spacious enough to allow his large frame to move comfortably around it. He had built it himself from timber in the nearby forest after his family's had been destroyed during a raid and he took immaculate care of it. Every year before and after the winter he repaired the wattle and daub of the walls and the thatch of the turf roof. Fresh rushes had been spread out across the floor and the hearth in the centre was always cleaned out when not in use.

It was almost as cold inside as it was in the open air and as Berwald pushed open the heavy door he couldn't help but think about Mikkel's warm home with a pang of jealousy. He fumbled for his oil lamp before he shut the door behind him so that he would be able to light a fire without the need for natural light. There were no windows in his house. He didn't see the need for people to see in when he would rather shut them out.

Several minutes later he had started a fire and had begun to prepare the fish he had caught. He wasn't a merchant and didn't generally enjoy trading but often he gathered too much food for one person to eat so he sold it to the local craftsmen. He was almost entirely self-sustained so had no real use for silver except to buy mead and beer to fill his empty nights. Still, he wasn't badly off by any means and could afford to live relatively comfortably.

When the herring had been cooked, he stored most it away in the wooden chest lined with salt which he kept his food in. This time there would be no trading; he needed all the supplies he could afford for the winter since his own source was so limited. He had wheat and barley already stored up but he knew it would be tight, as it always was.

He finished his fish quickly and his horn of mead soon after. There was no point in trying to do anything in the dark so he decided to try to sleep. Checking the fire one last time, he slid between the bearskin covering a mound of straw and his scratchy woollen blankets he had also made himself. Despite the fire, the room was still freezing and Berwald pulled the blankets closer as he rolled over to face the wall. Everything was calm and quiet, just the way he liked it. He was glad to be alone.

* * *

Translations (From Old Norse)

_flðflogi –A man who shuns marriage (flees the female reproductive organ)_

_faðir –Father_

_hei -Hey_

_barnit -Child_


End file.
